


Ever Professional - An Aside

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars Saucy Sides [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Implied First Time, M/M, Non-Explicit, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23748253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: An imagining of what might have happened between Bacara and Rex after 'Professional Care'.Mature. May not make sense without context.
Relationships: CC-1138 | Bacara/CT-7567 | Rex
Series: Soft Wars Saucy Sides [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701715
Comments: 42
Kudos: 194





	Ever Professional - An Aside

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Professional Care](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23741473) by [Project0506](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506). 



> Um. Well. Hey there. Hope this is what yall wanted. It's what _I_ wanted anyway so. You know. Yep.
> 
> You guys I'm sobbing. 
> 
> The Amazing [Echo of @dragneel-twins](https://dragneel-twins.tumblr.com/) made me [REXCARA ART!!!](https://dragneel-twins.tumblr.com/post/615955280426041344/hey-thefoundationproject-ever-professional-an)

“Hey,” Bacara rumbles deep in his chest. “Come on, tat’ka1, walk it back for me.”

Right at that moment there’s nothing Rex wants to do more than obey. And yet there’s nothing Rex wants to do less.

Bacara is a stretch of sun-warm granite underneath him, hard and unyielding on every plane. His hands are coarse and thickly calloused, hot and _huge_ where they’ve wormed up under the hem of Rex’s uppers. His mouth breathes fire across Rex’s lips. There’s a quiet memory of an ache of knit bone where Rex’s shoulder braces against his, just strong enough to amplify everything else.

Rex drops his head to Bacara’s neck and breaths unsteadily. The skin under his lips is even warmer and it isn’t even a choice, to dart his tongue out for a taste. Salt, and heat and vod. Rex groans.

“ _Easy,_ tat2. I’m not going to be your two minute rut,” Bacara warns, and even the implied threat heats Rex’s blood.

“Can’t,” he pants. “ _Please_.”

Bacara clicks his tongue. “No self-control, you young ones,” he chides, and Rex wants to imagine it sounds fond. “Up.”

Rex whines but doesn’t dare object when Bacara eases him off, rolls him onto his back.

Nudges his legs apart. Rex should have guessed Bacara would be a sadist.

There is barely space in the bunk for it but Bacara makes it work. Rex is flat on his back, panting, Bacara curled on his side like a comma.

“Walk it back,” he orders, then makes that just that little bit harder by running the back of his knuckles down where sweat has stuck Rex’s uppers to his chest.

The dorms for every vod3 past the second growth stage are kept at a regimented 65 degrees. The sudden blast of air when they pull apart leaves Rex freezing, but even that does painfully little to cool him.

“If this is all it takes to get you worked up, I don’t think I should give you any more,” Bacara muses, and now Rex _knows_ he’s teasing. “Not sure if you’d survive it.”

“Fuck. You,” Rex pants.

Bacara’s smirk is a crooked thing that twists one side of his lips up into something that softens his whole face. Rex abruptly remembers the way his neatly trimmed beard scratched against Rex’s cheeks.

“Big words from a man who almost shot off from a kiss.”

“‘A kiss’,” Rex mutters. He doesn’t know at what point he stopped calling Bacara ‘sir’. He’s not sure if he should or not; isn’t sure how it would go over. “Hate to see what you call a karking ravaging.”

Bacara chokes a laugh. “ _Ravaging_ , really LT? What kind of porn are you boys slicing these days?”

Bacara’s mocking him, but Rex can’t help but notice his lips drifting closer and closer to Rex’s shoulder. His hand is already rubbing slow circles low on Rex’s belly. Rex's uppers bunch, just a bit more, with each pass and the exposed skin of his stomach goosepimples in the cold.

Rex wouldn’t have thought he’d be this tactile. Bacara always seemed… distant. Unapproachable. Untouchable.

Rex is starting to wonder if, maybe, that just meant he was at least a little lonely.

Rasp of his beard against Rex’s shoulder first, then the threatening slide of teeth in the crook of his neck. He doesn’t bite down; it’s Rex that arches into the edges. It’s Rex that closes what little gap had formed between them.

Bacara clamps a hand down on one thigh, tugs his leg wide to just the edge of strain.

“Stay here with me,” Bacara orders. “Eyes on me, mind right here.” He’s started to struggle to hold the illusion of disaffection. “I’m not just a body to get off on, understand?”

It takes a second, no more for the words to filter through, their meaning to dawn like an ice-cold Kamino morning.

Sudden anger burns through Rex’s lust like a bushfire through grain. What the fuck, what the _fuck_ did he think this was?

“I spent _two tendays_ ,” Rex grits out, “on your edges, testing. Getting in your orbit, getting your attention, getting to your table at mess. Getting _between you and Commander Neyo_ for paired sparring. And you think what? I'm here because I don’t have squadmates and anyone will do?”

Bacara’s face has gone blank. Rex hadn’t even realized how expressive it was, comparatively, until now.

Yes, Rex realizes. That’s exactly why Bacara thinks he’s here.

He’s known the man for two tendays, it shouldn’t have been long enough for that to hurt.

He grits his teeth, smiles tightly and rolls away to sitting. “Well _sir_ ,” he snaps and lets only the anger in his voice. “If you wanted to kill my charge you did damn well.” 

(It's a lie. He's flushed and pained with it, even now.)

His face burns with humiliation and the durasteel floor is freezing under his feet. He can’t see where his boots have gone. He’ll. He’ll give himself a second, before he goes to look for them. Bacara is silent behind him. He doesn’t know how he feels about that.

He goes to stand, and behind him he’s matched shift for shift. A hand circles his arm, loose and barely brushing skin; he could break the grip easily. He doesn’t know why he hesitates. The inside of Rex’s wrist is soft skin and sensitive, and Rex can tell by feel the callouses Bacara’s developed from blasters. Bacara’s thumb slides down his wrist into the cup of his palm. Rex’s eyes slip closed.

“Why are you here, LT?”

“My _name_ is _Rex,_ ” Rex bites out. He doesn’t let his shoulders hunch up defensively the way he would have when he was younger. He gets better at managing his responses every day. “And if you thought I was… if you thought that kind of shit about me why did you _let_ me come here?” The grip that isn’t tugs softly on him, coaxes him without expectation, cajoling him into lying back down. He follows as if it's a demand.

He still can’t read Bacara.

“Because,” Bacara says. His hand slips up Rex’s arm to his shoulder, and back down. Rex doesn’t want to relax into it. “Even when you were pretending you were a proper yes-sir I could tell you were a cheeky little shit.”

Bacara’s thumb flicks the curve of Rex’s jaw, and he turns his face just out of it’s reach. Rex can't help the slip of a smile that tugs reluctantly at his lips. “Because you’re quick and clever, and the same hit never lands on you twice. Because you checked yourself out of med prepared to head back to your bunk alone, and you didn’t deserve that.”

And Bacara was willing to be a stand-in he thought Rex needed.

Rex swallows and abruptly feels a soft kind of mournful for this man. He’s the most competent soldier Rex has seen, outside of his own ori’vode4. But Bacara, Rex realizes, doesn’t know how to have vode of his own.

His hand drifts up to circle around Rex’s head. It’s a grip that’s almost familiar; vod use almost the same to tug each other into Keldabe5. Bacara’s hold is unpracticed, but steady. A lot about the man is. “Answer the question.”

“Because that first day you walked onto Grek range, saw that you were the highest ranked student there and took us all as yours,” Rex admits. “Within a day we all knew when you gave an order it was because you saw something and it was better for us. Even if most of us are still afraid to talk to you.”

Inexorable as the tide, Bacara draws Rex into his orbit.

“Because with all you just said,” Rex whispers against Bacara’s lips, forehead to forehead. “Not once did you say ‘because you look exotic’.”

Bacara’s face is always set stern and the armor he wears is non-standard, but none of that is _too_ strange, for vod _._ He fits in until he starts talking, and even then only Mando’a.

Rex stands out the moment anyone sees him. He understands, a little, what it’s like to be isolated.

The kiss is inevitable. It is apology and commiseration and understanding.

And heat.

Bacara kisses with everything. Teeth and tongue and drags of his beard over Rex’s chin and cheeks and lips. He kisses with his hands holding Rex everywhere, with ankles twinned with his. Bacara kisses with his whole body and Rex struggles to meet him where he is.

“I need you with me,” Bacara rasps, admission. “I need the connection.”

“I’m here,” Rex promises, because he’d never once intended to be anywhere else. “But I’m not. I don’t.” A thigh brushes in the V of his legs and Rex jerks hard as if electrocuted.

Bacara laughs, and he laughs with his whole body too. Rex will be thrilled to learn that, as soon as he can focus.

“No self-control,” he teases. Rex glares. His breath shudders. Seconds, _seconds_ and Bacara has him close. Rex wishes Bacara didn’t know that; smug is an unfairly good look on him. “Shh, tat’ka,” he murmurs. “Inexperience is something I can fix.”

Rex wants to object, when Bacara shifts to put a sliver of distance between their hips. He does object, when Bacara takes Rex’s top knee, bent, and rests it on top of his solid thigh. Robbing Rex of even the friction of his own legs.

“Fuck.” Rex pants. “Fuck you, _sadist_.”

Bacara smiles, soothes a hand up and down the inside of Rex’s trembling thigh, just ever so slightly too low.

“Not done anything like this before?” Rex thrashes his head in a no. He means a whole lot more than he thinks Bacara realizes.

Bacara goes a sharp kind of warm, the warm of catching your prey. “So this will be _just_ for me,” he muses, and rewards Rex with a deep searching kiss that holds until he’s breathless and squirming.

“Bacara,” Rex pants. “Bacara, please, Bacara.” Every call of his name flashes something dark and intense in his eyes.

“You’re going to try, just for me,” he tells Rex, easily as describing a maneuver but balanced on the edge of menace. “You’re going to try to hold out as long as possible. Make it twenty minutes and I’ll put my mouth on you.” Then, accident or test Rex doesn’t know, but for just a second Bacara’s hand slips high.

It takes every ounce of restraint to breathe through the rush that tries to roar through him. Long minutes of half-sobbed breaths, fingers digging bruises into Bacara’s arm.

“That’s it tat,” Bacara murmurs and steals a bite from Rex’s bottom lip. “That’s it. Good, soldier, you follow orders better than I expected. I’m going to have some fun with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. (Journeyman Protector dialect of Mando'a) Little Brother. Back  
> 2\. (Journeyman Protector dialect of Mando'a) Brother. Back  
> 3\. Brother. Back  
> 4\. Big Brothers, in context, Squad Shebse. Back  
> 5\. Author shortening of Keldabe Kiss. The Mandalorian practice of pressing foreheads together to show affection. Back  
> 


End file.
